Just like last year, the library of BplusC (Nieuwstraat 4, Leiden) is celebrating poetry with a unique group exhibition. And since it is 350 years from the death of Rembrandt, this is an exhibition in his memory. The show has already started (on the 29th of January) and will be on until the 25th of February.

For now, if you can't visit the library in person to enjoy the works of almost thirty artists, you can read my contribution here:

The Night Watch

A darkness as thick as molasses —

a spoonful of struggles yet to come.

There is humanity in simple gestures,

frailty in men carrying useless guns.

Depth is carved on dancing shadows

a soft light enters within from above.

A kind hand smoothens the contrasts

until a night is not a night after all.

Update: Visiting the show, I was happy to find out that another one of my poems, "Psychographics" from the Poetry Issues project, is also included. Enjoy below a small sample of a beautiful exhibition curated by Alida van Leeuwen:

Five months ago, I mailed these works to a person I have never seen, to be included in an upcoming mail-art exhibition entitled What Makes You Happy. This group exhibition is taking place now in The Hague and you can read more about it here (.pdf courtesy of Alex Witter).

This is the second time my work is being included in a group exhibition in the Netherlands. The first one was here. I'm looking forward to many more!

Poetry Issues has skipped a beat and there is no July-August issue. However, this is for a good reason besides the holiday slack. I was invited by Alex Witter to participate in a mail-art exhibition and I've been busy answering the hard question posed by the theme: "What makes you happy?"

Silence

A rare walk-in gem

shutting out the noise.

A meditation as deep

as death, with openings

from where to emerge fearless

and wise. Darkness as peace

for wild, overexposed eyes.

Wild Flowers

They come uninvited.

Pink and purple perseverance.

Hideous unsanctioned seeds

making no plea to the bees.

I let them take over the garden.

It’s always the stranger

that moves you forward.

Driving

I get this funny feeling

that there’s enough air

in my lungs, the certainty

that we will make it.

Brush strokes rushing

past, tangled in your hair

the world, a bonfire simile

lit by midday heat.

If you try breathing

your body simply dares

to ache, making getaway

from its weary myths.

Your Laughter

Not the reserved, polite one

but the one that gushes out

letting your teeth show

thrusting your head back

blocking your breath –

bouncing

from wall

to wall. An echo

fighting dust from dust to dust.

Alex Witter has set up a great inventory of all artists and works participating in this upcoming exhibition, where you'll find amazing work from artists from all over the world.

Since the previous issue was all free verse, there's a fair share of formality in this one: "Retribution" is a pantoum (which happens to be one of my favorite forms), "Northern Beach in Bref Double" a bref double of course, and "Coming at the Florist" a golden shovel. Poetry Issues #15, out today:

This twelfth issue, whose distribution started today, completes the first cycle of Poetry Issues. It has been a full year of poetic expression and I hope you've enjoyed it as much as I did. From now on the publication will become bimonthly, in order to dedicate some time to other works.

You can read this issue below:

April’s Fool

It’s a joke, all this rain,

and I’m reminded

only by date that this

is the advent of spring.

And I envy the trees.

They seem to possess

the right time for everything:

Like clockwork they go

through winters and springs

accepting, always in majesty,

each turn of season that I

try, strong-headed and vain,

to manipulate and command.

You refused to hold my hand.

Life Without Temptation

I didn’t die nor resurrect

at the age of thirty three.

I’ve lost my chance.

And now I watch myself

mature to death –

an unappealing apple

without an Eve’s hand

to save me from counting

how many meters

before I hit the ground.

Afterwards

Pestered as they were by what happens next

they left their sentences undone, hanging

annoying as fruit flies, unsure of their direction

overwhelmed by the vast possibilities ahead.

But once, fueled by a whole night’s drinks

they raced into the pink-gold dawn that painted

all their hopes anew. That’s when they learned

that language is redundant when your soul

is smooth and it’s not only youth that burns with instinct.

Letter

I don’t have to tell you

that we are not what we seem.

You know it better than I do.

Your chatoyant eyes reflect some

passion you dismiss. I have proof

in the shivers I get when you come

to have a coffee under my roof

and rehearse your staged words.

Still, I hear nothing but the truth.

It must be an augmented chord,

what tunes us in each other.

Life before you was a chore.

I’m a moth heading to the lantern

for what is love but death, dear lover?

In Therapy

Most days I don’t remember my dreams.

It’s just that I often wake up with a sigh.

I’m quite hard and detest looking back.

Cicadas and lilac skies don’t amuse me.

In my youth I grieved imaginary deaths

far as I was from the need of an afterlife.

I found purpose in the half-time. I was

meant to be the eye of the universe.

[If you would like to learn more about the Poetry Issues project, read this.]